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cloudedangels · 2 days ago

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Dr’s Orders 18+

⋆⁺₊❅。

You (f reader) are ovulating, but you can't bring yourself to request what you really need… Dr. Zayne has a treatment plan for that... luckily! ● ≈4,025 words ughggh ● probably needs proofreading ● adult!!! ● mdni!!!

Tags and cw: ovulation!: the plot device, zayne, dr zayne cures you of your horny disease kinda, piv, oral (f receiving), mostly sex no plot, in the hospital of all places!, creampie, multiple rounds, fingering, established relationship implied, self indulgent smut— you know the drill

a/n: this SUCKED to write omg omg im freee you can probably tell my sauce was running out... this mostly SUCKED to write bc I am on my period a week and a half early (???) & I have 1 endometriosis (,: this is also my first time writing zayne which i hope gets better bc he's my pretty lil baby, I need him [redacted].

Go bunnie.

▪︎ next up:

☆caleb's very late birthday fic

☆extended leave pt six

☆hubby!zayne drabble

vibrator series pt 3 and pt 4

⋆⁺₊❅。

⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。⋆⁺₊❅。

Zayne isn’t blind.

He sees the way your legs cross tighter than usual, the way your hand lingers too long on the hem of your sleeve, picking at threads like you're trying not to crawl out of your skin.

You’d stared at the closed door to his office ten times today. Every time you almost knocked, your throat had closed up. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your sleeve again, tugging it just a little too hard until it bunches in your palm. The scent of antiseptic clings to the air, mixing with your own faint perfume, and it makes your stomach twist like a knot you can’t undo.

You'll just sit in his office and wait for him to get off as always.

And... when you see him, you're all off.

Zayne however… he knows exactly what day it is. Five days post-period. Right on schedule. He does the math in his head because, well, of course he does. He’s a surgeon. He keeps track of things.

He doesn’t mention it, not aloud. He just watches you try to wrestle yourself into stillness like you're trying to outwit your own body. He can feel it in the air—how needy you are, how tightly wound. You think you're subtle, but Zayne knows tension better than most. He lives in it and operates through it. And you're practically vibrating with it. The sterile, slightly cold office smells faintly of antiseptic and leather. Outside, the dull hum of hospital noises lingers beyond the closed door.

You won’t ask him. Not directly. Maybe you think you’re being polite. Maybe you're afraid he’ll be embarrassed. But he’s not the one squirming in a rolling chair in his office, trying to fight biology and failing.

Still, you don’t ask. You want to ask, but your voice feels small, unsure. You’ve always tried not to be a bother, this relationship is only recently sexual... but now, not asking feels like self-denial. But you can't.

So he shifts his strategy. If you won't ask him, shouldn't he ask you for a favor? That'd work wouldn't it?

He’s quiet for too long. Not in the usual way. In the way that makes your stomach twist. He’s calculating something, staring at your lips like they hold some equation he hasn’t quite solved. You feel it before he speaks—something shifting in him. Something about to snap loose? He flushes as he turns to you, words falling out like dominos.

“I need to finger you.”

His words hang in the air, clinical but sudden... like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His jaw's tightening briefly, a twitch of the muscle betraying the calm he’s trying to maintain. His eyes flicker down to your lips like he’s memorizing their shape… a calculation paused mid-equation.

You blink. “What?”

Your heart hammers a little faster. You want to protest, but your throat feels dry and thick, and your body answers before your brain can catch up. There's heat pooling low and insistent.

Zayne clears his throat lightly, deadpan as ever. “Desperately. I'm, ah—struggling. It’s been difficult to focus. All I can think about is the sound you make when you come. So.” He tilts his head slightly. “This is for medical reasons. Mine. Urgent.”

You're trying to make sense of this, he's usually so much more put together than this… you're so horny you don't want to deny him but… You’ve never heard him stumble like this—not even when talking you through surgical risks or listing medications. Zayne is precision incarnate. So when his voice falters, it knocks the air out of you.

“I mean… if you want, I could give you—”

“No.” He cuts you off, eyes narrowing slightly. The room seems to shrink around you. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead blurs into a steady drone as your pulse hammers in your ears. His steady gaze pins you in place, and your breath catches.

“I’m not joking. The only thing that's going to help me is your thighs on my shoulders and my fingers inside you. Repeatedly. I need to make you come, and I need to taste you while I do it. That’s the only thing that’s going to help.”

You stare at him, throat dry. “You... need... that.”

“Yes,” he says, perfectly serious. “Badly. Like, clinically.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“You’re—” you try to say something clever, but it falls flat against the heat surging in your gut.

“I’m what?” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Depraved? Professional? Pathetic?”

You whisper, “Perfect.”

Zayne exhales once through his nose, the closest he gets to smiling when he’s trying not to lose composure. There’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth, and his hand comes up—Hesitant and precise, it brushes your cheek.

“So it’s alright, then?” he says, voice softer now. “If I... lose control. Just a little… With you...”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence.

And just like that, your quiet, unbearable need—masked in silence and polite restraint—crashes into his own. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—pain, longing, something deeper. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, slow and deliberate, his fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer. The sharp tang of antiseptic mingles with the warm, powdery scent of his cologne, a strange but intoxicating combination that makes your breath hitch.

His lips press into yours soft and patient, and with the easy state you're in, you're already letting out a soft whimper when he kisses you with such gentleness... touches you with such wanting. You're caving into him as he pulls back, begging silently for more of his lips and the powdery scent of his cologne.

He sinks to his knees, not because you asked, but because he did. Thank God.

You’re still blinking down at him, standing with your breath shallowed, as if waiting for him to laugh and walk out. But he doesn’t. He just reaches—fingers confident, deliberate—and taps once against your knee.

“Up,” he says softly. “Come on. Be good for me. Legs over the exam table.”

You obey because you always do. But also because the way he looks at you—precise, studied, patient—makes disobedience feel impossible. Punishable, even. You scoot back on the padded surface, letting your legs fall apart, and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly.

The paper beneath your thighs crinkles loudly—embarrassingly—like it dislikes what you’re doing. The scent of antiseptic cuts through the heat in your blood. Even your shirt feels too tight, too rough. The overhead lights hum, too bright, too sterile. You feel exposed and examined. Everything feels like too much… except him.

He hums. It’s not amusement, not quite. It’s approval.

“Perfect positioning. Should’ve let me do this days ago. You’re—” He clicks his tongue once. “Edging into clinical negligence, keeping me from a treatment this vital.”

His hands are warm. Sterile. Methodical. He touches you like he’s mapping nerve endings. His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, spreading you further. He studies you like you’re a case study, a problem he already knows how to solve but enjoys solving again anyway.

You're shaking. “And this… is... for you?” You mutter, a whisper of disbelief mixed with pleasure.

“Yes. Yes, and I want you to know,” he murmurs as he leans in, “that I’m not improvising. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Thoroughly.”

Then he licks. Just once—slow, flat-tongued, exploratory. You jerk. He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts closer.

“Mhm,” he murmurs clinically, like he’s tasting for acidity in a dish. “As suspected.”

Another swipe. This time more pressure, more purpose. His hands keep you open, one sliding up to rest gently over your abdomen, steadying you. He moans low in his throat—not theatrical, not showy. A slip of sound, as if he forgot he could be heard.

“You’re already so sensitive,” he mutters, kissing you now, more deliberately. “This’ll take a while. Let me work. I will get everything I need from you soon enough.”

His tongue moves in slow, studied patterns. Up. Down. Spiral. Pause. A flick. A suck. He’s collecting data—what makes you twitch, what makes you sigh, what makes you gasp and grab at the table’s edges. Every time you make a sound, he shifts technique slightly. Filing it away. Adjusting. Repeating.

He doesn’t speak much. When he does, it’s all under his breath—clinical, praising, a little condescending, always devoted.

“There you go. That’s it.”

“More of that, Yes?”

“Don’t hold your breath so much. Let it happen.”

When you finally whimper out a guttural, cracked open sound, he looks up. His lips and chin glisten as he simply says, “Good. That’s one.”

As if you’re just getting started. (Because you are.) He doesn’t let up. Not even close.

He pushes in slow, deliberate. Controlled. Like he’s watching a monitor for vitals, measuring every reaction, every tremor in your body.

You gasp, nails curling against the padded table. He groans softly—a man adjusting to pressure, to heat, to you.

“God,” you whisper, already clenching. “I needed this. I—fuck, Zayne, I needed this so bad—”

“I can tell,” he murmurs, calm as ever, even as his hips settle flush against yours. “Should’ve said something sooner.”

You moan, full of frustration and want and something dangerously close to tears.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t wanna be—” You break off, panting. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

He stills inside you. Eyes sharp. Lips parted. And then he exhales—long and quiet, like he’s biting back some deeper emotion. Maybe regret. Maybe guilt.

“You’re not a bother,” he says, low. “You never are.”

His hips roll just slightly, testing, coaxing, sending heat racing up your spine.

“If anything...” His hand slides up your side, over your ribs, soothing, grounding. “I should’ve made time for this earlier. This…” he thrusts a little deeper, “...this seems like an urgent need.”

You whimper under him. “Zayne, I—fuck, I want—”

“What do you want?”

Your face burns. Your voice shakes. But you can’t keep it in anymore.

“I want you… you to breed me... please.”

The silence after is thick.

He’s still.

Something unravels in his expression then. It’s not just arousal—it’s longing. A wish he hadn’t let himself form until you gave it voice, like he almost wants your regret. But he nods, like that need—raw, hormonal, messy—isn’t foreign to him. Like it’s the same one clawing up his own spine.

Then, slowly—gently—he fucks into you harder. Once. Twice.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “That’s what this is about...”

You’re babbling now, eyes glassy, breath hitching.

“I—I want it. I want to feel full, I want you to come inside, I want to know it’s yours—even if it’s stupid, even if it’s just my body wanting—I don’t care, I need it, please—”

Zayne brushes a hand over your cheek, thumb catching your tears before they can fall.

“It’s not stupid.”

His voice is calm. Assured. Loving in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You’re ovulating. Your hormones are spiking. Your body’s wired for this. And you’re safe with me.”

He leans over you, mouth brushing your ear.

“Anything you ever need,” he murmurs, voice rough now, strained with emotion and restraint, “you can ask me for it. Anything.”

He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes in deep—slow, worshipping.

“Especially this.”

You cry out for him again, voice cracking, and he just keeps moving, steady and full, fucking you like it’s a promise. His body warm, his voice steady, his heart loud in your ear.

“You feel so good… you wanna be bred, my love?” he whispers. “I’ll give you everything. Fill you up so deep your body won’t know anything else but mine. I like being the only one… who can fix this… problem for you.”

That's spins you undone, and when you come again—hard, sobbing his name, clenching around him like your body’s trying to keep him inside—he follows: gasping once, then going silent as he spills into you, deep and long, trembling.

Helping.

Fixing the problem.

He stays inside you for a while. Long enough that the tremble in your thighs evens out, that the ache in your belly softens from frantic to full. His hand is on your hip, steady, his breath slowing against your neck. You feel him soften inside you, but he doesn’t move to pull out, he just wraps his hand around your thigh, thumb tracing light circles. It’s as if he is still measuring your pulse through your skin.

You’re dazed. Fucked open and flushed and barely remembering where you are. He presses a kiss just below your ear. Quiet and close.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, one hand stroking your thigh like he’s grounding both of you. “Let me know if you’re dizzy. I got you.”

You nod, finally feeling like you can think with more than that warm beat between your thighs.

“…Fixed it,” he murmurs after a moment.

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “That was your treatment plan?”

“Highly effective,” he says, deadpan. “Minimal side effects. Patient satisfaction… presumed high.”

You hum and blink up at him, lips still parted. He’s looking at you, really looking, and not in the way doctors are trained to. There’s nothing detached about it now.

Then, with that surgeon’s steadiness, he pulls out slowly—so careful it makes you ache all over again—and reaches for the drawer on the wall behind you. Pulls out a warm towel like this is just another cleanup post-op.

You twitch when he touches you. Sensitive. Spent. He murmurs a soft apology, even as his hands stay precise, wiping you clean with unhurried tenderness.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you whisper.

He glances at you. “You didn’t ask. So I had to improvise.”

You smile faintly. “You’re not mad I didn’t say anything?”

He tosses the towel aside. “I’m not mad.”

Then, more softly:

“However…I just wish you trusted me to help you. Even with this. Especially with this.”

His hand brushes your thigh again, this time more to comfort than assess. “You never have to handle it alone.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly thick.

“I didn’t know how,” you say.

“I’ll teach you,” Zayne murmurs. “Next time, say what you need. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you. Maybe not of everything but… what I can.”

You nod, quiet.

Then he leans in again, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. A prescription written into the touch of your skin.

And beneath it all, his voice—calm, knowing, clinical as ever:

“This appointment is incomplete, but before I continue, let's plan? Follow-up appointment… same time next cycle?”

He’s hardening again, the heat of him pressing against you, but his lips stay impossibly soft where they meet your skin. His fingers glide over you with such careful tenderness it almost aches, like he’s afraid to break something fragile inside you. His breath stutters in his throat, and when he finally looks up at you, his eyes are full of something quiet, something desperate.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low and steady, his fingers curling around yours as if to anchor your body to him.

You swallow, heart pounding in your chest, the moment making your voice shaky. “Please… don’t stop. Not yet. Let me have this—let me have you—while you’re here, before you go back to work... before the surgeries take you away again.”

He nods slowly, swallowing hard, as if hearing that pulls something out of him. You’re full of his cum, in his office, and yet still... you want more.

“I want to care for you,” he says softly, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you—let me make you feel okay…”

Your breath catches, your eyes stinging. There's something in his voice—something soft, like you're worshipped. It undoes you. You nod, too overcome to speak, and he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time. A worshipful kind of kiss, one that tells you that he means it. All of it.

His hand slides between your legs, gentle, deliberate. He murmurs something you don’t catch against your cheek, and then his fingers are inside you—slow, coaxing, curling just right—and the stretch pulls a gasp from your throat.

“You’re still so wet,” he whispers, half in awe. “Still so full of my seed… and you want more?”

You whimper, your head tipping back against the couch. The way he touches you now feels different—like it’s not just about pleasure anymore, but about memory. Preservation.

“I don’t wanna forget how you feel,” he says, thumb brushing over your clit in slow, hypnotic circles. Your hips twitch under his hand, overwhelmed by the desire he builds in you. It's all too much—his voice, his touch, the heat of his body wrapped around yours—but you don’t want him to stop. God, you never want him to stop.

“I won’t let you,” you breathe. “I’ll remember for both of us.”

His mouth is on you again, but not your lips this time—his head drops lower, kissing a trail down your sternum, your stomach, until he’s kneeling between your legs.

“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rough with need. “Let me show you how good you are. How much I want you…You're doing me a favor really…”

He slips his fingers deeper, slow, deliberate, curling gently as he watches your breath hitch. You’re trembling under his touch, the way you’re spread out like a secret made just for him. His mouth moves close, breath hot against your skin.

“You’re the softest, sweetest flower,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with something between awe and need. “And I’m the luckiest man, right here, right now.”

His fingers flex inside you, teasing the spots that make you catch your breath and squeeze your thighs tight. Even after he’s already filled you once, the way he strokes and presses—there’s no doubt his desire is just as alive as yours, hungry and aching. He’s hard beneath you, the heat pressing close as he lets you feel it, a teasing promise of everything he wants.

“I told you it was for me,” he breathes, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “But really... this? It’s for both of us.” His hips shift, grinding slowly against you, the movement sending a new wave of fire through your body.

He leans down, mouth tracing a slow, burning path from your collarbone to your shoulder, lips parting just to whisper, “You make me need you. God, you make me need you so bad.”

His hands tighten around your hips as he pulls you just a little closer, filling the space between you with a quiet, fierce hunger. His fingers don’t stop, circling, curling, coaxing your body to respond again and again.

“Keep still for me,” he commands softly, voice rough like he’s holding back something fierce. “You’re mine right now. Every sigh, every shiver... it’s mine to take… I will be… your medicine…”

You’re gasping by the time he lowers his head again, mouth capturing yours in a deep, consuming kiss, and the taste of him—wanting, claiming—makes you lose the last grip you had on control.

His body is all fire and weight pressing down on you, filling the spaces inside you you didn’t even know were empty until now.

“More,” he whispers between kisses. “Always more.”

And you’re his, completely. The ache inside you answered at last.

His rhythm builds, fingers still buried deep while his other hand cradles your face—thumb brushing slow circles across your cheek, grounding you in the chaos he’s coaxing from your body. Every stroke inside you is purposeful, practiced, but full of reverence, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out.

“Look at me,” he says, not quite a whisper, not quite a command. Just enough to send heat licking down your spine. “I want to see you when you come undone.”

And you do—eyes wide and glassy, lashes fluttering as your breath stutters. The sight of you like this makes him groan, low and hoarse, hips jerking just slightly, betraying how close he is to the edge too, even though he hasn’t taken you fully again yet.

His fingers still, just enough to make you whimper. He presses a kiss to your jaw, then your mouth, as if that could quiet the ache.

“I could live here,” he murmurs into your lips. “Right here, inside you, around you... forever.”

Then he shifts, slow and careful, pulling his fingers free with a wet sound that makes your whole body tighten. He holds your gaze as he brings those same fingers to his mouth, tongue curling around them with a filthy sort of tenderness, eyes half-lidded, like tasting you is sacred.

“You, my dear, officially drive me undeniably insane,” he says, voice wrecked with want. “And I don’t wanna be sane again. Not so soon...”

When he finally sinks into you, it’s with a desperate groan that breaks right through you—thick and deep, every inch stretching you open like a promise. The burn is beautiful, the pressure perfect, and your body arches to meet him like it was made to.

He doesn’t rush. He moves—slow, rolling thrusts that keep you trembling, pinned under him and worshiped at once. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and trembling, and for a moment he just stays there—buried inside you, eyes fluttering shut as your pulse thrums between you.

“You feel like heaven,” he breathes, and then again, “Mine.” Like he needs you to hear it more than once.

And when he starts to move in earnest, it’s with the kind of slow devastation that leaves nothing untouched. Every stroke drags a sound from your throat, every grind of his hips makes your legs shake. He’s whispering again, praise and filth mixing on his tongue:

“So tight for me. So fucking good, after this you'll learn to ask, okay? I could stay like this all night. Just you. Just us. I'll spend every break just like this, or with a mind filled with it.”

And maybe that’s exactly what you want too—him, again and again, until the world fades and all that’s left is the rhythm of his body in yours and the fire he keeps stoking, endless and aching.

He moves again, deeper this time, more sure. Not fast—not yet. But he rocks into you with the patience of a man obsessed with detail, addicted to the small shifts of your body around him, attuned to every gasp and flutter.

Your eyes roll back as you clench down, and he groans—sharp and breathless, the only crack in his otherwise impenetrable restraint.

“Fuck—tight,” he mutters, head bowing slightly. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me feel it. That’s what I need.”

There’s nothing clinical in his voice now. It’s reverent. Hungry.

His hands are everywhere—on your hip, your thigh, pressed over your chest like he wants to memorize the stutter of your heart. You’ve never seen him like this—undone and focused, devoted. Not just having sex with you, but learning you, like you’re anatomy he wants to master, muscle and nerve and heat.

Your orgasm builds again—second? third? You’ve lost count—rising fast like a tidal wave you can’t hold back.

Zayne notices. Of course he does.

“You’re close.” It’s not a question. “Let it happen. You’re safe. You’re good. You’re mine to take care of.”

That breaks you.

You cry out, raw and sharp, body arching under him as you fall apart with a helpless sob. He takes all of it—every pulse and tremor—and doesn’t stop moving, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive.

He presses his forehead to yours as you shake, still holding you, still inside.

You barely have breath to whisper it: “You really needed this?”

He laughs softly—warm, breathless, wrecked. “No... yes but,” he kisses your knuckles as he admits. “But you did.”

He kisses you—slow, deep, filled with a sweetness that makes your chest ache.

Then he adds, quiet and unshakable: “But I wanted to be the one who gave it to you.”

You blink up at him, throat tight.

“Was that... alright with you?” he asks softly. “Dr’s orders... and all.”

You smile, dazed. “Might need a follow-up appointment.”

His smirk—barely there, tired, pleased—makes your heart flutter.

“I’ll clear my schedule.” ⋆⁺₊❅。

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lilirae00 · 10 hours ago

Text

Hard Launch

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 3k

Warnings: just fluff, enjoy :)

——

The Dallas Wings had just closed out one of their biggest wins of the season. The energy in the arena buzzed like electricity still trapped in the rafters. Paige was riding high off the adrenaline and her first career triple-double—twenty-two points, ten assists, eleven rebounds, and three steals—and now she was heading straight into the post-game press conference.

She should’ve been focused on the game breakdown. But all she could think about was the girl in the front row wearing her jersey.

Azzi.

Azzi had flown in earlier that morning, slipping into town just in time for tipoff. And now there she was—sitting courtside like a secret Paige couldn’t keep much longer. Her long legs crossed, curls pulled back in a half-ponytail, and Paige’s blue #5 jersey hanging oversized on her frame like it belonged there.

Which it did.

Paige had tried not to look too much during the game. Had tried not to stare. Had tried to stay composed when Azzi smiled at her after a tough finish at the rim. She didn’t want to give anything away.

But she was already too far gone.

Now, seated at the table with the mic in front of her, bright lights overhead and cameras rolling, Paige took a sip from her water bottle and shifted in her chair. Reporters peppered her with the usual questions—game strategy, her chemistry with her teammates, how she feels about her triple-double.

And then a different voice cut through.

“Paige, there’s been some buzz online recently—not just about Azzi Fudd sitting courtside again tonight in your jersey, but about a photo she posted a few weeks ago. Fans noticed the phone case she was holding said ‘Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend.’ Do you want to comment on your relationship with her?”

It hit like a full-body static shock.

Paige blinked. The words came before she could stop them.

“I mean… it’s not a secret,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “She’s… she’s someone really important to me.”

A few reporters smiled knowingly. Some just raised their brows and started typing.

“I guess if you’re asking if we’re together… yeah. We are,” Paige added with a nervous laugh. “And I’m lucky as hell.”

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable—just charged. And then came the next question, and the conference moved on like nothing happened.

But Paige’s heart was pounding like it had just sprinted a full-court press.

—-

She slipped out of the press room five minutes later, ditching the rest of her team’s entourage to head back toward the tunnel. Her hands were jammed in her pockets, and her hoodie was pulled up over her bun like a kid trying not to get caught skipping school.

When she rounded the corner and spotted Azzi waiting near the bench, that nervous beat inside her exploded.

Azzi was standing casually, still wearing the jersey, arms crossed and eyes locked right on her. Paige stopped short a few feet away.

“Hey,” she said.

Azzi tilted her head, lips curling into something equal parts amused and affectionate. “Hey.”

“Sooo… I might’ve… hard launched us.”

“In the press conference?” Azzi asked with a hint of surprise.

Paige nodded slowly. “Like… national media hard launched.”

Azzi walked forward, closing the distance between them. “What’d you say?”

“That you’re important to me.” Paige looked down, then back up. “That we’re together. And that I’m lucky.”

Azzi’s smile deepened. “You are.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t gas me up right now, I’m freaking out.”

“You’re fine.” Azzi reached up, gently pulling Paige’s hoodie back. “You looked hot tonight, by the way.”

“I scored twenty-two points,” Paige said, mostly to hide how much her cheeks were burning.

“And you still couldn’t stop looking at me,” Azzi teased.

“Not my fault you looked like a walking fantasy in my jersey.”

Azzi leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

Paige stilled. Not because it was the first time—it wasn’t—but because it always landed with the same quiet force.

“I love you too,” she said. “Even when you make me sweat bullets in front of a dozen reporters.”

Azzi laughed and took her hand. “Let ‘em sweat. You’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

—-

They kicked off their shoes the second they walked into the apartment. Paige dropped her bag by the door and tugged off her hoodie, the post-game haze finally catching up to her. Azzi didn’t say much—just beelined to the couch, where she threw herself down, still wearing Paige’s Wings jersey and looking completely at home.

Paige walked past the kitchen. “You want tea?”

“Nope,” Azzi called, already pulling out her phone. “I want the internet.”

Paige groaned, spinning on her heel. “Please tell me you’re not checking Twitter.”

“I am absolutely checking Twitter,” Azzi said, already scrolling. “We’re trending.”

“Kill me.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay wait—listen to this one. ‘Paige Bueckers dropping “she’s someone really important to me” like she wasn’t about to break every sapphic heart in America.’ And—wait—‘Hard launched like a NASA rocket and I’m here for it.’”

Paige flopped down next to her and let her head fall into Azzi’s lap. “Why do I sound like I was about to propose?”

“Because you kind of did,” Azzi said, brushing fingers through her hair. “You were nervous. But it was adorable.”

“I was losing my mind,” Paige muttered into her thigh. “I think I blacked out after I said ‘important.’”

Azzi laughed. “You said you were ‘lucky as hell’”

“God.”

“You want a massage? I feel like that level of emotional panic requires some kind of body work.”

Paige grinned into her lap. “Maybe. But only if I can pretend I’m not seeing every post about us.”

Azzi kept scrolling with one hand while the other gently worked at the knots in Paige’s shoulders.

She continued to read the tweets out loud so Paige could hear.

@wnbafanatic: UMMM PAIGE BUECKERS JUST CASUALLY CAME OUT AND SAID AZZI IS HER GIRLFRIEND???

@wingsupdates: Paige saying she’s “lucky as hell” re: Azzi has me kicking my feet.

@queerhoops: We finally got the #Pazzi confirmation we needed and DESERVED. 🥹🏀💙

@barstoolcollege: Paige & Azzi might be the power couple of the decade.

@pazzi4life: Yeah okay, fork found in kitchen. We been known, Paige. 🥹

Paige sighed and turned over to sit up beside her. “Okay. Real talk?”

Azzi nodded, instantly setting her phone aside.

“I wasn’t scared to tell our parents when we did. Or our friends. Or the team. I mean, they already knew,” Paige said, pulling the blanket up over both their legs. “I was scared to tell… them.”

“The world?”

“Yeah. The internet. The fans. The media. All of it.”

Azzi watched her, quiet.

“I’ve spent my whole life being ‘Paige Bueckers,’ you know? This brand, this idea, this… golden girl. I didn’t know how people would take it if I let them see you. Us.”

“You didn’t want to break the illusion,” Azzi said gently.

“I didn’t want to give them something to tear apart.”

Azzi leaned closer. “I get it. It’s not nothing, coming out publicly. Especially in our position.”

Paige looked down at their hands. “I didn’t want anyone to ruin this.”

Azzi squeezed her fingers. “Then don’t let them. They don’t get to touch this unless we let them.”

Paige exhaled. “You’re so sure.”

“I am,” Azzi said. “Because I love you. And I’m not scared of people seeing that.”

Paige was quiet for a beat. “I think I am… but I’m done hiding more than I’m scared of being seen.”

Azzi smiled. “Then we’re good.”

They leaned into each other, kissing slowly, wrapped up in warmth and familiarity. The rest of the world faded out with each soft brush of lips, each lazy laugh between kisses. Eventually, Azzi tugged Paige down with her, their bodies curling together beneath the blanket.

Paige shifted so her hand brushed under the hem of the jersey Azzi was wearing. Azzi responded instantly, deepening the kiss, hands moving to Paige’s waist.

“I meant what I said,” Paige whispered into her mouth. “You’re mine.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Then show me.”

—-

Paige stirred awake to sunlight leaking through her bedroom curtains, warm and golden across the sheets. For a minute, she didn’t move—just let herself feel the weight of Azzi’s arm across her stomach, the soft rise and fall of her girlfriend’s breath at her shoulder.

Everything was still. Quiet. Safe.

And then it hit her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes widening.

Azzi blinked awake beside her. “Mmm?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Paige turned her head slowly. “I said it. Out loud. On record. In a press conference. That we’re together.”

Azzi smiled into the pillow, eyes still mostly closed. “You did.”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her back, covering her face with both hands. “I hard launched us in front of the national media.”

Azzi laughed now, fully awake. “And it was kind of perfect.”

Paige peeked through her fingers. “Was it?”

Azzi propped herself up on one elbow. “Yeah. You were honest. Sweet. Brave.”

Paige went quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to be brave. It just slipped out. But then afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people who are gonna have opinions about it.”

Azzi’s smile softened. “You wanna talk about it?”

Paige exhaled, turning onto her side to face her. “It’s not that I didn’t want people to know. I just… we’re already so visible, you know? Everything we do gets watched, commented on, judged. Coming out—publicly—it feels like giving people even more to pick apart.”

Azzi nodded slowly, eyes full of understanding. “I get it. I felt the same way.”

“When you asked me if you could post the phone case selfie, you were so sure. Were you not worried?” Paige asked.

Azzi smiled. “I was, but I wanted you to know I was ready, even if you weren’t yet.”

Paige’s heart clenched a little at that. “You weren’t trying to speed up the launch?”

“No,” Azzi said immediately. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ashamed or hiding.”

“I never thought that,” Paige said softly. “I’ve just been scared. Not of being with you—never that. Just scared of what people might say. The fallout. The attention.”

Azzi reached out and laced their fingers together. “The people who love us already know. The rest will catch up or get over it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we still have us,” Azzi said. “And I think that’s enough.”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I think it is too.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve got practice soon, rookie. Better get moving.”

Paige groaned again. “Think if I fake a sprained ankle, Coach’ll let me skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

—-

Practice was in full swing when Paige jogged into the gym, hair still damp from her shower and a faint flush clinging to her cheeks that had nothing to do with running drills.

Arike was the first to greet her.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Paige ‘lucky as hell’ Bueckers,” she teased, grinning from across the court.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh god. Not you too.”

“Rook, the entire internet is quoting you.”

Dijonai walked by and bumped her shoulder. “That was a hell of a hard launch.”

Lyss followed, looping her arm around Paige. “More like a detonation.”

Paige groaned. “Y’all are relentless.”

“Hey,” Arike said, smirking. “We’ve known about you two forever. You just made it public. We’ve been sitting on our hands not tagging Azzi in thirst tweets out of respect.”

“You’re welcome,” Dijonai added with a wink.

Lyss leaned in. “But for real… we’re proud of you.”

Paige looked around at her teammates—all smirking, playful, and totally in her corner.

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it.

And just like that, they were back to business. But Paige felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Seen.

And lucky as hell.

—-

Later that week, Paige and Azzi were getting ready for a charity gala. The apartment smelled like curling iron heat and perfume. Music played low in the background, a chill playlist on shuffle while the girls moved around each other—Azzi perched at the vanity in a silk champagne dress, Paige pacing near the closet in a deep navy suit that clung to her frame in all the right places.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor,” Azzi teased, watching Paige pace.

Paige paused mid-step and met her eyes in the mirror. “You look so good it’s actually stressful.”

Azzi smirked as she added a dab of highlighter to her cheekbones. “We’re just going to a gala.”

“We’re going to a gala sponsored by my team, where we’ll walk a red carpet together, as a couple, for the first time,” Paige countered, adjusting her cuff links. “I think stress is valid.”

Azzi stood and walked over, smoothing down Paige’s lapel with practiced ease. “Then let me help you chill out.”

She leaned in and kissed her—softly, just a breath of pressure—and Paige visibly relaxed.

“You ready now?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Let’s blow up the internet.”

—-

The car rolled up to the venue entrance, where a navy carpet stretched out under bright lights and a flurry of camera flashes. Other players and VIPs were already arriving in designer fits and sparkling gowns, but the energy shifted the moment Paige stepped out in her suit.

A few cameras flicked toward her—then froze when Azzi followed, hand sliding into Paige’s as they walked.

There was no hiding it tonight.

Photographers lit up like fireworks.

“Paige! Over here!”

“Azzi, give us a smile!”

“Ladies, together, please—look this way!”

Azzi felt Paige squeeze her hand.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Paige looked at her and smiled, “yeah let’s do this.”

Paige kept Azzi close, one hand securely on her waist as they posed together in front of the Dallas Wings media wall. When Azzi leaned in to say something, a photo caught Paige mid-laugh, head tilted, entirely smitten.

“Y’all are trending already,” muttered one of the Wings’ PR staff with a grin, holding up her phone.

As they made their way inside, Paige felt the nerves start to dissipate—not because the cameras stopped, but because Azzi was calm. Confident. Like this was just another date night. Like it was safe.

The event buzzed with Dallas media, corporate sponsors, and familiar WNBA faces. Paige and Azzi moved from group to group—greeting Wings staff, chatting with teammates and partners, posing for a few more photos inside.

“Paige, wow,” said the team’s marketing director as she shook her hand. “You clean up nice. And Azzi—so great to finally meet you in person. We’ve seen you at games, of course, but it’s nice to put a name to the face.”

Azzi smiled graciously. “Likewise.”

“You two look amazing together,” the woman added, almost in a hushed tone, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

“Thanks,” Paige said, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “We feel amazing together.”

A few feet away, one of the event’s older donors—a man in a crisp gray suit—caught sight of them and leaned in toward a colleague. “Oh, that’s Bueckers’ friend. The UConn kid.”

Paige heard it.

Azzi did too.

And while Azzi gave the man a gracious nod as they walked past, Paige didn’t let it slide.

She slowed, turned slightly, and said loud enough to be heard: “Actually, this is my girlfriend. Not just a friend. I know the difference.”

The man stammered—something about meaning no offense—but Paige was already walking away, Azzi’s hand tucked tightly in hers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Azzi said quietly.

“I wanted to,” Paige replied. “I’m not letting anyone downplay what we are. Not anymore.”

—-

They collapsed into the Uber like they were finally exhaling after holding it in all night. Paige tugged her tie loose while Azzi kicked off her heels and tucked them beside her on the seat, her bare feet sliding over the leather.

Azzi leaned back, dress pooled around her thighs, and opened her phone. The screen lit up instantly.

“Oh my god. We’re everywhere,” she said, scrolling through mentions. “Twitter. TikTok. WNBA Reddit. There’s a clip of you calling me your girlfriend with this dramatic music under it. The lesbians are unwell.”

Paige grinned and rested her head against the cool window, one arm casually draped across Azzi’s lap. “Good. Let ’em spiral.”

Azzi clicked over to her camera roll and scrolled until she landed on the photo—the one from the carpet where Paige had her arm wrapped tight around Azzi’s waist, both of them looking at each other instead of the camera, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She held it up. “What about this one?”

Paige glanced over and immediately nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“We posting it?”

“Together?”

Azzi smiled. “Hardest of hard launches. No going back.”

Paige sat up and reached for her phone too. “Let’s do it.”

They sat side by side in the dark Uber, phones glowing between them as they each uploaded the photo.

Azzi typed first:

“Couldn’t be prouder to stand beside you, on and off the court 💙 #HardLaunch”

Paige stared at her screen for a beat, then typed:

“Took my shot & she said yes 🥹 #LuckyAsHell”

They looked at each other and tapped post at the same time.

Seconds later, their phones lit up in tandem—likes, comments, reposts already flowing in like a tidal wave. But for once, Paige didn’t care what any of them said.

Azzi leaned into her side. “How do you feel?”

Paige turned toward her and answered without hesitation. “Like I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.”

Azzi’s lips curled. “Not even your triple double last week?”

“Not even close.”

She took Azzi’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Tonight,” Paige said, eyes locked on her, voice low and warm, “you made me feel like the most complete version of myself. And it’s not because of the cameras or the suits or the headlines. It’s just… you. You make me feel like I don’t have to hide any part of me.”

Azzi swallowed, visibly moved.

Paige leaned in and kissed her—soft, but certain.

They pulled back only when the driver cleared his throat and announced, “You’re home.”

But in Paige’s head, the word didn’t mean the apartment.

It meant the girl sitting next to her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige and azzi #pazzi #paige x azzi

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rostekhorn · 2 days ago

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Being honest part of the reason I have no patience for this stuff is that I've actually been in the position that so many people desperately want most conservatives to be - "Republican because believing a bunch of lies" - when I was a teenager for a couple years. Blame the post-9/11 zeitgeist and too many Tom Clancy novels. "Of course Saddam has WMDs. Of course Americans are going to build a happy healthy successful democracy, just like they did in Germany and Japan." And from there on to more and more conservative shibboleths repeated by the people who were saying these things.

The thing is, and the mid-2000s graphically demonstrated this, when you believe these things out of sincere stupidity, you actually notice when they don't pan out. When no WMDs are ever found, you notice. When the "back by Christmas" invasion turns into a multiyear Yugoslavia-style bloodbath, you notice. When the "greeted as liberators" soldiers get caught repeatedly war criming the shit out of people with no consequences, you notice.

Also, when the TV and the "respectable" party leadership tells you one thing about Republicans, but every Republican you meet in real life shows the opposite, you also start to notice after a while. When George Bush assures you that we are not at war with Islam and Muslims are wonderful people to be treated with respect, but every Republican you meet again and again tells you we are at war with Islam and Islam is an evil religion that we must oppose because America is a Christian nation and rounding up Muslims and putting them in camps until the emergency's over wouldn't be so bad actually, it becomes pretty difficult to believe the people telling you "vote Republican, of course they'll respect people's civil rights, they only hate terrorists."

Sure, no one converts overnight and it's normal that your first response is to try and rationalize, because nobody likes to think they've been suckered. But after a while, if you were actually drawn to the message because you believed the lie, but it keeps turning out over and over to be a lie, you're going to walk away from the cult. If you keep following the cult and swallowing a different lie after another after another? Then you're not actually there because your good faith is being abused.

They have to want to justify bigotry badly enough to excuse those lies when they're made obvious too, to make excuses and look aside and see nothing.

I think the line that's stuck with me the most from Hannah Arendt when describing Nazi and Stalinist true believers is "they're not saying what they think is true. They're saying what would have to be true, in order to justify them doing the things that they wanted to do all along." That's what the lies are, permission slips.

Wilfully vile.

There is also the insecurity factor. Trump ended the Iran Deal just to spite and disrespect Obama.

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friendlyneighborhoodcat · 3 days ago

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Forsaken Yandere HC:3

I'm bored and I got inspo so here's some yandere headcannons, I'm only doing the sentinels in this post so I'll post abt the killers and the other survivors later

...

...Uhhh uhhh UUHHHH

NONBINARY CULTIST GOO *Throws a two time pill baby at you*

Chance: Would be the type to stroll up to you confidently and tell you some cheesy ahh pickup lines. Would be rlly open about how he feels towards you, if that's not obvious enough from the flirts. Although he'll stay up late at night overthinking about how you feel abt him. Makes imaginary bets in his mind like 'if I got head, I get to kiss Reader'(He never does), manages to get tails 9 times, and cheered out loud when he got a singular head(Yeah. He's pathetic, I know, throw him in a volcano.)

Two Time: Oh boy, they'd know your entire cabin's layout and every single item placement from the number of 'visits' they had while you're asleep (they watch you sleep at night). Seriously, ask them about any of your missing items and they'd literally give you the exact location of it like, 'Hey, Two, do you know where my ____ is?' 'Table, second drawer'. They wouldn't make themself seen during rounds, but trust me, they're always stalking near you. Expect this mf to stare at you with the manic ahh smile, and don't be too confused when you find strange trinkets or symbols in your cabin. Would pray to The Spawn about you and thank them for your existence, which they believed to be a blessing for their devotion.

Guest 1337: He's like your personal guard dog now. He always sticks close to you in rounds, staying on hyper-alert. Yes, he's aware of Two Time stalking watching you. Would fuss over you every time you get too far and would protect you at all costs. If you're injured and Elliot gave him a pizza, he'd give it to you with no hesitation. Even if you have higher health than he does. Killers tend to avoid targeting you bc of the scary dog privilege, or maybe they just get parried every time they try. He knows you'll respawn every time you 'die', he's just too afraid of losing someone he treasured again.

Shedletsky: He's fighting demons so that his wings don't fluff out every time he sees you. Would share fried chicken if you ask nicely. He'd yap to you abt SFOTH or the stuff at the Roblox HQ after rounds and would slack off from stunning the killer just to do the same generator with you. He loves it when you pet his wings and makes soft cooing bird noises. You'd always tease him about it after and earned a grumbling Shed in return, though he'd never admit that he doesn't mind your teasing.

-----

UEUEUEUEUEEUUEEUEUEUEEEE

Hope yall don't mind my writing for this post cuz I'm flipping out while making this. As in I'm being overly excited and jumpy and stuff.

It'll go away tho. Trust, heh

OKAY BYE I GOTTA FORSAKEN NOW RAHHHHH

Edit: Okayy so I feel like this may cause some confusion, so I'd get that out of the way first. Shed and Taph both have wings in my HC. Just that Shed has bigger wings located on his back, while Taph has smaller wings on the side of his head.

#forsaken #forsaken au #forsaken x reader #chance x reader #two time x reader #guest 1337 x reader #shedletsky x reader

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r66dusthewriter · 1 day ago

Note

Hiii! I love your works so much — they’re so amazingly written. I was wondering if I can request you do the Hot Ones interview for Drew Starkey with the Outer Banks cast — only if you want to!

I hope you have a great day!!

‘Big news for the unemployed’ | Hot ones versus

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I started my little (a casual 11h first day shift) side/summer student job a few days ago. I filed a complaint to HR and had a screaming match with my supervisor the same night. I have never longed for unemployment the way I do now.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.5k

When Drew spun the bottle, it landed squarely on Maddie, signaling that your team would kick off the first round.

“As the only kook here” Drew began, a grin playing on his lips as he read from the card, “I’m pitting pogue against pogue in a three on three challenge. Lose a game or fail to answer a question and your entire team must eat a deathwing. However, if you pass my test, then I will suffer the wrath of the last dab”

He glanced up and smiled at Maddie “Madelyn, the bottle landed on you, so your team will answer the question first”

You sat closest to Drew, your legs intertwined beneath the table with his, a comforting reminder of what the two of you had.

“Alright, Y/n” Drew said, nodding toward you.

“Shoot,” you replied confidently.

“Outer Banks has hooked viewers for four seasons with its countless twists and turns,” Drew continued, eyes twinkling “However, name one storyline you think should've never made it out of the writers’ room”

The entire cast gasped dramatically.

“Is this your way of trying to get me fired?” you joked, laughter bubbling through the group.

Jonathan turned to you, a grin on his face “Do you want to eat that wing?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. You shook your head rapidly.

“Oh I know!” you said with a confident tone “Sarah getting shot where she did and literally being able to sprint the next morning. Like, give my girl a break”

“That’s why I love you!” Madelyn shouted, laughter rippling around the room.

“That’s a solid one,” Chase agreed, nodding appreciatively.

Meanwhile, Drew slipped off his rings, mentally preparing to take on the dreaded deathwing.

“Oh, now I feel bad” you murmured, worry flickering in your chest.

“You worry too much about him,” Jonathan said with a smile. “He’ll be alright.”

Chase chuckled, watching Drew carefully pull apart the wing. “Oh you’re shaking”

Then Drew took his first confident bite, a big one, causing you to gasp.

“Just relax,” Madison advised Drew “Oh my god. Big bite!”

“Baby, no!” you whispered, soon covering your mouth, hoping the mic hadn’t caught that. “He doesn’t have to eat the whole thing, does he?” you asked, turning to the producers.

“Yes, he does. Yes, he does,” Jonathan repeated with a smirk.

“It’s okay baby. I want to” Drew nodded and assured mouth full, the pet name barely audible.

“He does.” Jonathan assured further “He’ll want me to do it and i’d respect that”

Once Drew finished, the chewing looked agonizing. His fist covered his mouth as he fought through it, and you looked at him with concern while the rest laughed and cheered him on.

“It’s getting hot” he coughed, face warming up but proud.

By the time round three rolled around, Drew picked up the next card with a dramatic flair, eyes scanning the words before he read aloud.

“After five years of long shoot days in remote locations, our cast has become like a family. So now, it’s time to see how well you know your co-stars in the game of ‘Who posted it’, you’ll be shown a series of Instagram photos and must correctly identify whose account it is from. The losing team must eat a death wing”

Groans and nervous laughter erupted around the table as the challenge began. Despite a strong start, your team stumbled through the last few images. The final buzzer sounded and the opposing team cheered as the loss was confirmed.

You let out a dramatic sigh, then confidently picked up one of the fiery wings from the tray.

“I’m usually really good with spice,” you said, squinting at it skeptically, “but why do I feel like this is not gonna go well for me?”

“No, no, no, you got this ba–” Drew began, but was cut off by Jonathn, who grinned and shouted “Eat that wing baby!” taking Drew’s words right out of his mouth.

The table burst out laughing as you gave Drew a playful glare and took a bite. At first, your expression stayed neutral. You chewed, shrugged. “That’s actually really good, it’s not that—oh”

The second wave hit. Your eyes widened slightly as the burn kicked in, creeping across your tongue. The opposite team laughed as you blinked through the rising heat.

“I take that back!” you gasped, fanning your mouth. “That’s warm… but good”

“Look at us!” Madelyn clapped, looking at both you and Carlacia as she chewed. “Taking it like champs…it is really hot though”

Drew leaned over with a smug smile and whispered just loud enough for your mic to catch it faintly, “Knew you’d make me proud”

You grinned, mouth burning but your pride fully intact.

For the final round, the stakes were turned up, quite literally, as each of you added a dollop of the infamous Last Dab hot sauce on your next wing.

Drew read the final challenge with mock gravity in his voice, holding up the card like it was a royal decree.

“The treasure of the Royal Merchant has caused many to betray their closest allies. This game is no different as we have come to a final ‘Winner Takes All’ challenge. That’s right. No more teams, it’s everyone for themselves in the most cutthroat party game of the seven seas ‘Musical Chairs’” Drew read.

Groans, laughter and a few exaggerated threats echoed around the table as you all stood and the crew prepared the game.

You soon found yourself circling the chairs just behind Drew, tension high and competitive glints in everyone’s eyes. The music stopped suddenly and chaos ensued. You and Drew dove for the same chair at the exact same time. He ended on your lap as the others looked around for who lost. With your arms around him, you patted his chest and he chuckled as he stood up.

“Oh, it’s me,” he announced with chivalry, stepping aside and reaching for his wing

“What a gentleman,” Carlacia teased with a smirk.

“He just didn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight,” JD added under his breath, which you barely heard, making the ones who did erupt in laughter.

Drew shot you a wink, high fived you with a grin and took his wing like a champ, downing it as applause rang out.

“You gotta get outta here” Madison told him, waving dramatically.

“Alright, fuck y’all,” Drew said with a grin, stepping off set as the others booed him playfully.

The game whittled down quickly, with chairs disappearing and cast members losing left and right. When it came down to you and Chase in the final showdown, adrenaline surged. The music cut out, and with lingering reflexes, you claimed the last seat.

The cast cheered off-frame, someone yelling, “Attagirl!”

“I told y’all to put your money on that girl!” Madison added proudly.

Once the clapping died down, the cast re-emerged and Drew held out the trophy with dramatic reverence.

“And here we have it…the wing of champions,” he declared, handing it to you.

You took it with a grin, and held it up, turning toward the camera as the rest of the cast rallied around you.

“Thank you all for this.” you began in mock sincerity. “The wings were really hot and I’m just honored to survive this. But more importantly, I’m really hoping I can take home the ones we didn’t eat”

You glanced pointedly at a producer off-camera.

The cast and crew burst into laughter as you finished “Outer Banks Season 4 is now streaming on Netflix, please watch it… . But seriously though…I’m dead serious about the wings—can i? I have ziplock bags in my purse.”

The screen faded to black as the entire set cracked up behind you.

—--

The "First We Feast” Instagram post announcing the video with the cast blew up almost instantly, but after the full video dropped, the internet practically caught on fire.

Clips were reposted across Tiktok, fan accounts captioned everything from your teary-eyed wing victory to Drew handing you the trophy but what really set the comments section ablaze was the chemistry.

drewdorabl3 I counted three ‘baby’s’ and two babes’. I am NOT okay.

obxsuperfan1 Just checking if I’m having auditory hallucinations…did anyone else hear Y/n call Drew ‘baby’?

rafesleftsock And Drew too! If you’re wrong then I need my hearing checked too.

mells134 I turned on the captions. They definitely said it!

drewswife.09 here y'all go again. they’re bestfriends 🙄

ikervt Me when i’m delusional

89kovcg Jobs people. JOBS

p0gu3l0v3r Ughhhh the way he looks at her

yenakls445 anyone else hear JD talk about how Drew didn’t want to sleep on the couch? 😭

dellaos.cc yes omg!

89kovcg Huge news for the unemployed.

c3rtifiedpoguecollector who’s gonna tell them we heard everything?

y/l/y/l/n tell what to who? I’m so lost y’all

madelyncline babe just go ahead and log out

Speculation turned into full-on obsession as fans began dissecting every glance and laugh. Someone even made a compilation called “Every time they forgot they weren’t alone” on TikTok. It had a million views in a couple of hours and naturally, more chaos ensued yet you and Drew, thanks to your lack of social media presence, remained mostly unaware.

#drew starkey imagine #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #obx cast

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ogwintersmind · 1 day ago

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Current boyfriend — Katsuki.

Katsuki hated TikTok with a passion. He had the app on his phone of course- only because you insisted he follow you and he needed to keep up with the trends or whatever. Still, he never really used it.

BUT ever since the two of you had gotten together he'd fallen victim to every trend you decided to participate in—so when the 'current boyfriend' trend started making its rounds, you already knew you had to do it. Katsuki was sitting at the table, eating after a long work day and a shower, minding his own business. But of course - any amount of quietness he had absolutely required his wife to come and "ruin" it by bothering him.

"Kats," you approached him with that innocent expression and that sweet sweet voice - it's all an act of course, and he knew it. "I wanna make a nighttime routine video for my TikTok. With you in it, okay? Please?" He rolled his eyes and let out a long huff, the kind that always came right before he gave in to your whims.

"You're always putting me in these dumb videos," he grumbled, his eyes never leaving his food. Then he spoke again, "yeah, we can film it. Just let me finish eating and we can start.”

Pertect. He'd fallen right into your trap. Like he always does.

You grabbed your phone and turned on the camera. "Okay! I'm gonna film the intro now though."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered. Still not looking up from his plate (fatty).

The camera focused on Katsuki's side profile as he ate, and you started the video. Putting on that innocent act of just filming. "Hey guys! A lot of you have been asking me for a nighttime routine, so l'm gonna do one tonight. Oh, I'm also gonna have my current boyfriend in the video too."

You barely finished speaking when Katsuki froze mid-bite. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you. "Current? What the fuck? Delete that."

The two of you locked eyes for a long moment. Neither of you is saying anything. You were already trying not to laugh.

"It's just a saying," you shrug. "It's not that serious." Katsuki's expression was one of disbelief. "Just a saying? First of all, never have I ever been so fucking offended." He set his chopsticks down with purpose. "Second, make sure you're listening to this very carefully— I am your husband. Your literal fucking husband, and not only are you reducing me to your BOYFRIEND when we've been married for a year, but you're reducing me to your current boyfriend at that. What, are you gonna have a new one tomorrow?" He was genuinely so pissed off at you right now.

"Turn the damn camera off and try again. I'm actually not joking, Reader." You shut the camera off and give him a small chuckle. "It's just a joke, crybaby. It's a TikTok trend." Of course it was.God, he was so tired of you doing these stupid trends on him. " Yeah, whatever, get out of my face. You're so annoying." He continued eating with a slight smile on his face, knowing that later, you and your supporters would be making fun of him and his reaction in your comments.

Thanks for reading!

I know I haven’t posted in a while 😅 I’ve been very busy (lazy) .

I was gonna do multiple characters but I got too lazy so if you want that then let me know !

see you in the next one friends ♡.

XO- winter ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.

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the-faggot-brackets · 3 days ago

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ROUND 2 POLL 4

@catinasink @misericordiia

please remember this is a fag contest not a popularity contest

propaganda/contestant info under cut:

(there is a lot for this one! /nm)

catinasink:

Pluto - it/he/star

(left image by @albi-bumblebee, right and bottom by @trying-trying2lyk)

"as a tumblr user for over a year now, i've gone through many stages of faggotry, including a variety of homoerotic mutualships, some with multiple people involved. i have two boyfriends i am in yaoi with at this moment, and we are the epitome of faggotry. i have gone through the lesbian crushing on a straight girl, i have gone through crushing on a teacher older than my dad, i have gone through many labels in my faggoty life. as a true faggot, i want you to vote for me - the faginasink, if you will. im an rpf truther and have many a headcanon about long dead white people (18th century if youre wondering). im an avid monster drinker. i like mcr. i do diy. i kiss boys and am a boykisser. i used to be (and dabble in) girlkissing. i use a variety of pronouns (incliding coool, secret, evil pronouns). i am the ultimate faggot, and hopefully your vote will help me secure my role. i won last year so surely i am still the ultimate faggot ?"

"also i offer free pictures of my cat if ☝️ you vote for me"

"i went through a doomed t4t4t situationship and one of us detransitioned(?) one of us transitioned to a new identity and one of us stopped using the same chosen name so. id say thats pretty telling of my faggotness"

"i have like. the biggest crush on my history teacher i feel like thats faggoty"

"im really cool i promise i have a hyperfixation on ushistory which is awesome and cool and i made a plushie of john adams"

"uhh i went through doomed yuri at LEAST 3 times over the course of my life !!!!"

"please vote for me,..,..,,, itll make me happy,..,.."

misericordiia:

Mercy - she/he

(bottom image by @moose-driving)

"my dad started the first GSA in our part of the country, is dating a gay man, is the first one people come to for LGBTQ questions, everyone’s favorite boygirl bisexual"

"my top post (100k notes) on my old blog was literally abt trans ppl whats faggier than being known as uterus boy?"

"im so invested in frerard i explained it to my boyfriend on our first date (also my drama teacher fucked mikey way). my whole family is probably queer my mom goes on rants abt how she wishes she transitioned. i have a queer tarot deck i use all the time im also for some reason the person to go to w queer questions irl people just ask me things. im a stage manager and a costume manager and what is more gay then costuming in live theater. i also do clown drag there is nothing gayer than clown drag"

"i was in a t4t yaoi situationship for months and for a month during that i was in a lesbian situationship at the same damn time. i have been out as bisexual for like 6 years and my dad founded the first gsa in our region. im gay both ways as everyones favorite boygirl bisexual and my boyfriend is also bisexual. im clearly the faggiest as im also goth and all goths are bisexual on principle. i offer pictures of my dog as tributes if you send me a screenshot of your vote for me :3"

#the faggot brackets 2025 #mod snailz #catinasink #misericordiia #poll #round 2

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mullermilkshake · 2 days ago

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Time constraints

Part 27 <- Part 28-> Part 29

It's time for labour, the twins are coming and nothing is stopping them.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Pregnant!reader Tags - Heavily pregnant reader, Graphic depictions of labour/childbirth, Hospital, Mentions of c-section procedure, Trauma

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

TW - This will contain some very graphic details of labour in childbirth which may be triggering for some, if you do not wish to read it, I will leave a short summary of this chapter at the bottom of this post, thank you all for reading this far and enjoy!!

Don’t freak out.

Don’t fucking freak out.

Your fiancé had lost his memories of you and the twins and now you were pretty sure your water had broken, and he still didn’t remember anything. Fuck- holy fuck, holy fucking- fuck, you were wholeheartdley freaking out, naked and freaking out.

“Okay…” Deep breaths, you ignored the trickling down your leg which pooled on the floor. “Okay. I need to- I need-“

Jinwoo rushed to your side, touching your arm made you flinch. “Tell me what you need. You have a hospital bag or something we need to take, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the closet- I need a shower.” There was a sudden, dull pain radiating from your back.

Did having sex cause this?

“Okay.” Jinwoo gathered his clothes. “I’ll call the hospital, leave the door open, shout if you need me.”

“Alright.”

The doctor said that when your waters broke, it could be a matter of hours until the twins arrived though not guaranteed. Not long in the grand scheme of things, less than a day and over in a blink.

What if something went wrong? Maybe something would happen to you and Jinwoo ended up being left with two screaming babies all on his own.

You ran the water in the shower, breathing slowly, screwing your eyes shut to try and balance your mind and relax your muscles from tensing too much.

Hot water? No, warm. If it’s too hot, my blood pressure could drop, I might faint and end up having the babies here- what if we were too late to the hospital and I give birth in the car- oh my god.

“Oh my god.”

A quick shower, one to wash your hair and prep yourself before sitting in a stuffy hospital for the week.

Ten minutes tops, hyper aware of the pressure in your back, like mild period cramps that slightly intensified each time they came over like waves. A couple of minutes maybe more apart.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, then over half an hour when Jinwoo came in, knocking behind the mist of foggy heat on the glass.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? The hospital said to come in when you’re ready, I’ve put everything at the door and there was an oversized t-shirt on top of the bag so I laid it out for you on the bed.”

You just about heard his voice over the shower, his silhouette waiting behind for a response.

“I’m… freaking out.”

Jinwoo didn’t say anything at first, you could see him pacing, wanting to say something. But he never did.

“Can you come in? I want to make sure I got all the soap out of my hair.”

In honesty, you’d rinsed your hair twice and stood under the running water for who knew how long. Despite Jinwoo’s troubles, having him next to you brought you a comfort you craved.

“Sure.” He took his clothes off quickly, opening the door and slipping inside right next to you.

He hesitated before holding your shoulders, rubbing his thumbs over the wet skin where it counted. You accepted a chaste kiss to your temple, grounding you a little when a cramped pulse through your back and stomach.

“Are the bubbles out?”

You looked up at him, already exhausted, knowing the next time you slept properly, you wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. Jinwoo searched your hair, massaging it with his fingertips under the water like there were actual bubbles left over.

“Yeah, they’re all out.”

“Okay-“ You hissed, inhaling a sharp breath and catching you off guard.

“What’s wrong? Is it a contraction?”

Nodding, you breathed it out and turned the shower off. “Yeah, it was sharp, nothing like the ones before that.”

“Let’s get dried, I’ll take you to the hospital-“

You pulled him back before he could open the door. “You’ll stay with me, right? You won’t leave.”

Jinwoo smiled sweetly, like how he did before, like his face was searching for little fragments to piece together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if you need to come back here like Jong-in did, and I have the babies before you get back?”

“I guess I better bring everything I need so I won’t have to leave your side then.”

That sentiment stopped your heart beating any faster, yet the anxiety still remained. “It’s too early, I thought we still had a week, what if something’s wrong?”

Jinwoo handed you your towel, wrapping his own around his waist. He picked up another and scrunched your hair in it softly so that you didn’t break as delicate as you were feeling.

“Lets see what the doctor says before we get riled up, I’m sure there’s a reason.”

A reason, you couldn’t think of any except that you must have done something to agitate it, to aggravate the twins into dipping out because you were just no longer inhabitable. The babies were early, meaning they would need some sort of help when they got here, the doctor said that.

It must have been the sex, it had to be. What if it hurt them or something now that they’ve dropped into position?

Your babies had dropped a few weeks ago, your body’s way of telling you that the they were ready to come at any time.

On the entire way over there, you didn’t speak, calmly breathing away more contractions. And when you weren’t doing that, you pulled apart every reason why you wouldn’t be a good mom.

If you never got your mana back, how would you raise them properly? Jinwoo couldn’t remember your face and every time he looked at you, you knew he was wracking his brain to try and find something to recognise you by. Every glance, every touch, like he was touching someone new for the first time.

He had forgot key moments in the relationship that only you knew and could never get back because you couldn’t experience them for the first time again.

A first kiss, first time, when he cooked for you and you for him when moving into that apartment into the unknown, you both made it a home. You hated that place now, wanting to live anywhere but there. Jinwoo would have loved your old place, one with a little balcony and a beautiful view of the city. Now it was gone.

All gone. Your little piece of privacy, all gone.

Jinwoo informed the receptionist of your arrival, stating your name and pulling up a wheelchair to sit in because your back began aching constantly. Tightness, that’s what you’d describe it as, a tightness around your belly each time a contraction washed over your body. Just plain uncomfortable most of the time, and then a certain pain came with a vengeance and made your teeth grit and you’d hiss like a snake or venomous animal that ought to be left alone.

“Hello!” When the doctor’s high pitched voice and grin entered the room, you couldn’t bear her. “How are you feeling?”

Jinwoo helped you on to the bed after you’d managed your hospital gown on, he never left, and you recognized that stare he’d given the doctor many times before. Now, you knew she meant well enough, but her face was pidsing you off.

“Oh, y’know, just as good as carrying around two babies inside me can feel.”

“I know, it’s a lot to process, but we’ll hopefully have a smooth birth like we did the pregnancy.” The doctor shuffled through some notes on her clipboard. “Now, I see your finalised birth plan says no pain medication, we’ll keep to that?”

“For now, I’m managing alright so far.”

Chances were you’d want medication later. It all depended on what you heard from the other rooms on the delivery ward. One screaming mother in your ears and you assumed it would send you into a state of panic. For now, the halls were mostly silent apart from squeaking hospital shoes and distant, beeping monitors behind other private doors.

Simple enough.

“Are you delivering the baby?” Jinwoo asked, his hand resting on your own as your legs swung off the side of the bed.

“Me? No. I’ll just be going between you two and Hunter Cha, the midwives will be taking care of the delivery. I’ll be assuming more of a matron role today. While I do specialise in pregnancies, I’m more involved in caesarean assisted deliveries and postpartum surgeries.” She smiled and adjusted her lab coat over her new pink scrubs. “I leave the amazing work to the midwives, but I’m on call for any procedures as a last resort, it’s commonplace.”

“Oh, right- yeah of course.” You’d never even entertained the idea of a C-section. Too busy worrying over everything else.

The doctor took your other hand and tried her best to reassure you, Jinwoo’s hand squeezed yours in response. “Please don’t worry about that right now, the midwife will check the babies position, but we already know they been engaged for a little while now, so I don’t think their positions will be an issue. So try not to think about my role today, just focus on yourself… you have a very supportive partner with you.”

She spoke the truth with that. You smiled involuntarily and nodded, watching Jinwoo with adoration even in the shitty times, he pulled through for you.

“Now, the twins are a little earlier than we hoped, but a specialist midwife will be on standby with incubators incase they’re in need of support. It is very common for twins to require longer hospital stays, but it’s okay.”

“We had sex-” It slipped from your mouth faster than you could ever control it. Fucking verbal vomit, coming out with it like you were shamelessly telling your parent. “Could that be-”

“No. There are some outdated methods to hurry labour along, but we could never confirm it. Sometimes babies are just ready to come out early, and yes, there could be complications, but you must remember, it’s pretty cramped in the uterus with one baby let alone two. They’re probably just ready to meet everyone. But we’ll monitor them to be sure, okay?”

“Okay.” It settled your nerves as another contraction rolled through your body.

Jinwoo massaged your shoulders and bridged the gap between you and the doctor. “What about Hae-in? She’s been here longer, shouldn’t you be with her?”

“We still have a little ways to go, I’m heading over to see her now, last time we checked she was over halfway there, so she’ll most probably give birth way before you do, but if you need anything, just call a nurse and they’ll come and get me.”

She sighed wistfully, shaking her head with the most delicate chuckle you’d ever heard from her. “I never would have guessed you two girls would go into labour at the same time! Talk about timing- now, get some rest while you can and my advice is to walk around if applucable, it can help get things moving. Best of luck you two, see you in an hour or so.”

As soon as she left the room, you grabbed onto Jinwoo’s t-shirt and tugged him closer, a sudden doom looming over your head. “Jinwoo, what if she has to cut me open- it was never part of the birth plan I-”

When he embraced you, you eased into him, taking on the smell of his cologne and natural smell that soothed you.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Brushing your hair from your face he smiled. “Let’s tackle it together, see where it takes us.”

If he was freaking out like you were, he was doing a pretty decent fucking job of hiding it.

“Okay…”

The comfort sat on the shelf longer than you were able to keep it, several hours later, you were in what the midwife called active labour. And it fucking killed. Every movement, each sharp breath as your contractions sort of merged together in one thick contraction. You were struggling.

“I need to use the bathroom-”

“Do you feel you need to push?” The midwife asked, taking your hand to aid you out of bed.

“No- no, I need to pee, I really have to pee.”

Your poor bladder, probably swollen to the size of… well not bladder sized. One of the twins were kicking at it like a fucking football. If you didn't go now, you were sure to wet yourself and piss all over the floor. Not your finest moment, yet with all the gross stuff, Jinwoo never batted an eye.

Yet, the more in pain you got, the quieter he became. After each outburst of fear or panic, that was when you could see his eyes widen.

However, he said nothing to voice his fears, internally processing them and still being available to support you. Each time you overheard Have-in scream and shout during labour, it frightened you, making you jolt and flinch and temporarily forget the pain you were in yourself.

Childbirth was fucking terrifying.

But, peeing was great, sitting down in a different position was even better, it helped you ignore the commotion outside.

“What the fuck is that?!” Struggling to stand with assistance, you backed away like you’d found a spider in there.

The midwife looked into the toilet once you were up and wide eyed at the lump-of-whatever that fell in the toilet, all veiny and globular.

“It’s alright, please don’t panic. It’s your mucus plug, it means things are moving along.”

The thing looked alive, it looked fucking alive. It could have been the overwhelming pain shooting through you or an array of other things, but that thing fucking looked alive.

“Jinwoo… I don’t think I can take this any more.” You were so close to sobbing, inches close to giving up with each second passing and making that C-section look appealing as it could be being cut open.

“We’ll get you something for the pain-” He waved over the nurse. “Can you get her something for the pain now?”

“I’m back!” The doctor came in with a positive grin you wanted to sneer at.

The nurse nodded over to her and said, “She’ll be able to prescribe it for you.”

Relief, perhaps? Any painkillers were deliciously just in reach, anything to take the edge off. “Good, because I need something for the pain- I can’t take this any longer, doctor..”

She pulled out her clipboard and scanned through the pages. “We can, but your birth plan states no pain medication, do you want to wait and-”

“No,” You managed yourself back into bed with Jinwoo’s aid. “I want it now, anything you have. Please.”

“I think maybe we should-

Something snapped in you alarmingly fast, a feral and rabid inducing. “Get me some fucking pain medication, bitch! I’ve just birthed a giant glob in the toilet and was told it’s normal. These kids are gonna split me in two and I’d rather not feel it! Now, if you aren’t gonna be useful, get the fuck out!”

Silence. Indescribable silence.

Then you realised what you just said through the constant wall of pain. “Fuck… I’m sorry-”

“Doctor.” Jinwoo coaxed her over towards the corner of the room where you couldn’t hear anything, far too many machine beeps and heavy breaths to even see clearly.

But you noticed the doctor's expression change from neutral to something out of a horror movie. Eyes wide and mouth wider. She nodded and adjusted herself, clearing her throat and announcing to the room that she’d be back with the medication you wanted.

“She’s getting you anything you need, don’t leave anything out, alright?” Jinwoo turned, watched you like he hadn’t done within the last day and gave you a knowing smile. “Hi, Baby.”

Your pet name. Even in the pain you realised.

“Jinwoo- wait- do you-”

He approached and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. “I’m sorry I went away, I won’t ever leave again, I promise.”

What the hell. Jinwoo remembered all of a sudden with no warning, and he thought it was appropriate in your pain blind mind to apologise right now?

“Wait- wait.” Grasping his shirt made him groan unexpectedly. “You took your time!”

He let you pull him about. “Thanks for waiting for me, I missed you too.”

Sarcasm. But you couldn’t deny it. “I did miss you.”

“And… you love me too, huh?”

Not one minute back to his usual self and already you wanted to throttle him and kiss him all at the same time.

Better late than never.

"I do."

Wiping the damp hair away from your face, he stared at you with the most adoring look he'd ever given you. "Let's have our babies. I'm with you the whole way, properly this time."

No, he came back at the right time.

Part 27 <- Part 28-> Part 29

SUMMARY - Jinwoo and reader go to the hospital, the doctor is indirectly involved with her care and Hae-in's, and is on standby. She tries to keep to reader's birth plan, (which is no meds) Reader is in pain and shouts at her hehe, and then we see Jinwoo put the doctor in her place and we find out that he has his memories back.

Not the best at summaries 🫣 Sorry!

I'm not fully fully happy with how I've done the ending but I'm not sure if it's just me reading over this one like ten times, what do you think?

ANNOUNCEMENT - I'm away all of next week, so no chapters until sometime next week 🫣🫣 sorry! I'll still be writing, I just won't be uploading.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

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dalliancekay · 2 days ago

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Aziraphale and Religion and his Bibles

It has come to my attention that some people call Aziraphale Christian and/or religious, and I have seen posts alluding to him collecting bibles out of some sort of ... piety.

He is however, none of these things. He doesn't need to believe in God and especially not in a book or what's written in it.

Now, I get that not everyone read the Good Omens book, so here are two of my favourite passages (emphasis mine):

Aziraphale collected books. If he were totally honest with himself he would have to have admitted that his bookshop was simply somewhere to store them. He was not unusual in this. In order to maintain his cover as a typical second-hand book seller, he used every means short of actual physical violence to prevent customers from making a purchase. Unpleasant damp smells, glowering looks, erratic opening hours - he was incredibly good at it. He had been collecting for a long time, and, like all collectors, he specialized. He had more than sixty books of predictions concerning developments in the last handful of centuries of the second millennium. He had a penchant for Wilde first editions. And he had a complete set of the Infamous Bibles, individually named from error's in typesetting. These Bibles included the Unrzghteous Bible, so called from a printer's error which caused it to proclaim, in I Corinthians, "Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit the Kingdom of God?"; and the Wicked Bible, printed by Barker and Lucas in 1632, in which the word not was omitted from the seventh commandment:, making it "Thou shaft commit Adultery." There were the Discharge bible, the Treacle Bible, the Standing Fishes Bible, the Charing Cross Bible and the rest. Aziraphale had them all. Even the very rarest, a Bible published in 1651 by the London publishing firm of Bilton and Scaggs. It had been the first of their three great publishing disasters. The book was commonly known as the Buggre Alle This Bible.

This to me - sounds like Aziraphale collected these bibles because it was a funny and interesting and a specialised thing to do.

Not because he thought it was some holy sort of book he had to guard.

"When the Rapture comes, brothers and sisters, all the True Believers will be swept up in the air-it don't mind what you're doin', you could be in the bath, you could be at work, you could be drivin' your car, or just sittin' at home readin' your Bible. Suddenly you'll be up there in the air, in perfect and incorruptible bodies. And you'll be up in the air, lookin' down at the world as the years of destruction arrive. Only the faithful will be saved, only those of you who have been born again will avoid the pain and the death and the horror and the burnin'. Then will come the great war between Heaven and Hell, and Heaven will destroy the forces of Hell, and God shall wipe away the tears of the sufferin', and there shall be no more death, or sorrow, or cryin', or pain, and he shall rayon in glory for ever and ever-" He stopped, suddenly. "Well, nice try," he said, in a completely different voice, "only it won't be like that at all. Not really. I mean, you're right about the fire and war, all that. But that Rapture stuff well, if you could see them all in Heaven-serried ranks of them as far as the mind can follow and beyond, league after league of us, flaming swords, all that, well, what I'm trying to say is who has time to go round picking people out and popping them up in the air to sneer at the people dying of radiation sickness on the parched and burning earth below them? If that's your idea of a morally acceptable time, I might add. And as for that stuff about Heaven inevitably winning . . . Well, to be honest, if it were that cut and dried, there wouldn't be a Celestial War in the first place, would there? It's propaganda. Pure and simple. We've got no more than a fifty percent chance of coming out on top. You might just as well send money to a Satanist hotline to cover your bets, although to be frank when the fire falls and the seas of blood rise you lot are all going to be civilian casualties either way. Between our war and your war, they're going to kill everyone and let God sort it out-right? Anyway, sorry to stand here wittering, I've just a quick question where am I?" Marvin O. Bagman was gradually going purple. "It's the devil! Lord protect me! The devil is speakin' through me!" he erupted, and interrupted himself, "Oh no, quite the opposite in fact. I'm an angel. Ah. This has to be America, doesn't it? So sorry, can't stay . . . " There was a pause. Marvin tried to open his mouth, but nothing happened. Whatever was in his head looked around. He looked at the studio crew, those who weren't phoning the police, or sobbing in corners. He looked at the grey-faced cameramen. "Gosh, " he said, "am I on television?"

Please note - Aziraphale is a bit of bastard. He's definitely not catholic or Christian or any kind of religious. He's an angel, and he's not an angel because of his belief or something. That's what he was made as. By GOD. This God made the Universe and told them all She has a Plan for it, ineffable as it maybe be; they were told Earth was to be around for 6000 years. Give or take.

Aziraphale doesn't believe in God. He knows She exists. And clearly (as per above) he doesn't think the way Christianity understood things are exactly - uh, correct.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens book #rapture #the bible #second hand books #religion #kaypost

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francixoxoxo · 2 days ago

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peonies, honeysuckles, daffodils

haymitch abernathy x reader

two years post the 50th hunger games, Haymitch is still learning how to deal with the enormous loss of his ma and Sid. Having you come around his house in the victors village, forcing him off the couch and away from his cognac, it makes life less heavy. This time, you show up with a wheelbarrow full of gardening equipment.

aka gardening with haymitch!! quasi-lenore dove-insert, short and sweet fix it fic lol

Everything in Haymitch’s new house was too functional. The lights never blew out. Signal for the tv never got spotty. He had to stand in the shower hours for the water to go cold. It was nice, maybe, but he hated every inch of it.

He missed taking time to heat the bath water, and rushing to wash himself while it was still warm. He missed his ma burning candles in the house to save oil for the lamp. He wanted nothing more, now, than to take Sid outside to rough-tumble for lack of cable. The clothes he wore now were distinctly comfortable, his shorts didn’t scratch his thighs ‘cause now they weren’t made from grain sacks, but he hated that too.

Maybe nostalgia turned an impoverished upbringing into something Haymitch was desperate to hold onto. To curl his fingers around and never let go, no matter whether he lived in a big, tip-top, capitol-issue house or not. In clothes not sewn by hand but bought with all the money he had no clue what to do with. A lot of it he spent on you, instead. Got you nice dresses, kept your pantry at home stocked (even though you spent most of the time here in the victors village with him— he kept his own pantry stocked just for you, too. Maybe that was the one reason he kept anything besides brown liquor and bread in the house.)

Another detail missing from his only theoretically improved life was the creak of his front door. So, no, he doesn’t stir when you twist the spare key he gave you in the lock, or when you push the door open. But your lover stops snoring at how you throw it closed, purposefully noisy.

Haymitch’s fingers curl taut around the knife he fell asleep gripping, he shoots up from the couch. He lets it clatter to the hardwood when you round the corner from the entrance into his living room. Last night was one of those where your parents demanded you sleep in your own bed for once. If you weren’t in his comforters (which were also too soft and too cushy for Haymitch to not be wary of), he didn’t wanna be either.

“Hay?” You offer a smile, sending a warm yellow from Haymitch’s fingers to his toes. He shoots you a tired but trying-his-damn-best smile that doesn’t show his teeth.

“Hey to you too.” There he is. You cross the room, kneeling down and setting the knife on the floor atop the coffee table. That wariness to his face melts a little, he smiles sweeter when you press a gentle kiss onto his cheek. You were probably the reason he didn’t fall completely into a stupor.

Haymitch turns his face to catch you in a proper kiss, lingering and honey slow. And another kiss. And another. Eventually he lets you go, reluctantly watching you throw the blanket off his lower half. “Get on up, I got a surprise.”

He grimaces, but with puppy-dog obedience moves to sit up. “Better not be an animal,” he mutters, grasping your arm as he pushes himself to his feet, not for balance but to stop you from cleaning up his mess, bottles of moonshine scattered on the coffee table. You laugh at his gruff words and tell yourself you’ll help with the empty bottles later.

“It’s not. But I guess it is something living.”

Haymitch gives you a strange look at that. But, ever-trusting in you, he follows you back out through the front door. The smile on your cheeks can only be described as triumphant as you watch his eyes settle on the wheelbarrow at the bottom of his porch steps. It’s overflowing with bags of topsoil, plastic pots of already-bloomed perennials, seed packs— you even have a pair of gloves and a spade from home. Is this why you asked for some grocery money? He huffs in disbelief.

“I’m no gardener.”

Well. He guesses that he is when you push him to be. Because ten minutes later, after hauling the wheelbarrow (which was damn heavy, heavier than you were, he wondered how the hell you lugged this from home,) to his backyard. You’ve got him kneeling beside you in front of a few planters that came with the house, in two rows. You offered the spade but he opts to use his hands, scooping aside the topsoil you instructed him to pour over the old dirt already in the planter. “Why flowers? Why not something we can eat?”

Haymitch’s voice is gruff, but you know that deep down, he’s grateful to be forced outside. His fingernails crusted with dirt again, warm air smushing golden curls to his neck, and the breeze rolling down from the mountain airing the smell of liquor out from his clothes. Oh, he felt terrible when he gave you a hard time, but he couldn’t help it. How could you just keep going on forgiving him, endlessly?

“Flowers are pretty,” you shrug, gently worming a pre-planted honeysuckle flower from a little pot. You ruffle the compacted roots a bit. Haymitch huffs through his nostrils, tidying the little hole he’s dug and watching you lower the plant into it. “It’ll bring some color in here. I think that’s worth the same as a full belly.” You eye him, he’s already been looking at you. A smile tugs at his lips. He almost even forgets that the flower you’re planting, spreading the rich brown soil over, is also called woodbine.

He follows your lead without any more complaints (well. With a few little complaints), helping you push little daffodil and rue seeds into the soil already being warmed by the late March sun. It’s a little hard to believe that any of these will come into anything, but Haymitch doesn’t voice that. He’s content even if these seedlings never sprout, to watch the honey-sweet smile on your sun-pinkened cheeks as you get your hands dirty, wiping them on your overalls and getting the denim dirty too.

Despite all of it his mind just drifts on back to that ever-nagging question; how could you keep on loving him? Despite all the times he’s drunken himself to sleep, trying to suffuse memories of his ma’s sweet, creased smile and the shape of his brother’s eyes. Despite all the times his stirring in the middle of the night has woken you up, too, his chest heaving from nightmares of fire licking at a house that held his whole life within it in two senses. Yes, he has you. And he thanks whatever grand force there is to thank. He has you, and so the heaviness in his chest is not so great, and the cloud over his heart not so dark. You push him to let the people he’s got left back into his life.

But is it enough? That’s what’s really nagging him. He wants to let you sponge up all of what’s water logging his chest but it’s too much in there. Ampert. Welly. Wyatt. Woodbine. Maysilee, and Louella, and his ma and Sid—

Haymitch loves you with his whole heart, with his hands and his feet and every lock of hair on his head and freckle on his cheeks. And still, he fears that he’s too bitter, too weighted down for you to lift him anymore. Someday he’ll say something too gruff or he’ll drink more than you can dry him out from, and he’s terrified that it’ll have piled up so high that your love (that he knows is there now, he knows it) will fizzle in a bowl of self respect.

“Y’know, I was thinking we would plant these peonies out front. They get chock full of ants on account that’s how they open up, but you can just shake them out before you put them in a vase— Haymitch, are you listenin’ to me?”

Haymitch nods, humming, “Mhm, mhm, mhm. I am.” He was not. One of the few times his mind drifted away from your voice and all the things you knew, were passionate about enough to tell him about them. He could listen for hours— but a second ago he was doing a whole lot more staring down at frame of the planter than listening. Thinking until steam whistles out his ears, you told him once. His eyes, a bleariness to his gray irises, snap up to meet yours.

With a frown you wipe your palms on your thighs, shifting and reaching for his hand in his lap. “What’s going on in there?” Haymitch smiles wearily but only shakes his head.

“What’s usually going on.” He shrugs, eyeing you and saying what he needs to without moving his lips. I don’t want to talk about it. I know you want me to and I want what you want, usually, but not this. Not now.

You listen to him only partially. “They’d like you finding something to take care of,” you coo, shifting closer. Haymitch hums thoughtfully, winding an arm around your middle. He pulls you to sit across his lap, tucking his chin on your shoulder.

“I got you.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t need watering, Haymitch.” He smiles up at you, his lips pulling all the way over his teeth in earnest. His arms wrap around you nice and firm, his right hand brushing slowly along your ribs, you humor yourself by thinking he’s mimicking a harp player.

“Oh, damnit. I gotta water these?” Haymitch groans, screwing his eyes shut as he mocks tipping his chin back in exasperation. You pinch his earlobe and work a laugh out of him.

Maybe you’re really too good for him. Too patient. Too forgiving. Way more than he thinks he deserves, anyway. But God, he doesn’t just want to slip under the water. He doesn’t want to let this consume him. He return to that charming, witty boy you loved so wholly. But maybe that hole the capitol ripped is to wide for that Haymitch to spill out.

He never considers that you don’t need him to be the same. You don’t need him to heal within two years, and you don’t expect him to. You love him. You loved him before all of this and you will love him for years after, regardless of how frustrating it is to try and get that into your stubborn lover’s head. You’ll dry him out as often as you can and you’ll wake up at midnight every night. ‘Cause you know his heart, how fully it belongs to you. You know he would shoot himself in the foot or in the temple if you only just asked. And that’s the kind of love you don’t give up on.

So you smile, and let him push his nose against your cheek, but you lay a hand over his chest at the base of his neck to leave your lips free just long enough to giggle, “I’ll remind you, Hay.”

Haymitch smiles, real and warm, into the kiss he draws you into, winds his arms closer around your middle and wipes his own dirt-smattered fingers on your overalls. “Thank god. Sorry, honey, but they’d be dead in a week.”

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littlejoels · 20 hours ago

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notes: hi guys! this is my new account (old acc was littlesoulshine/littlejackles) where i’ll be posting more jackles + other content. i wasn’t really feeling motivated on my old account and, honestly, it just started to feel draining; so here we are on a new acc! if you have any jackles or jared ideas or requests, my ask box is open! i hope you guys enjoy!!

𝜗ৎ dean mentioned early in the morning that he had a surprise, and that alone meant you should’ve put a helmet on. instead, you followed the sound of the electric air pump whirring in the backyard, and found him hunched over a deflated kiddie pool. seeing your figure near him, he leaned back on his heels and grinned up at you. “okay, now go put on your swimsuit.”

𝜗ৎ you blinked, trying to wrap your head around the scene: a full-grown man, dead serious, inflating something clearly made for toddlers. a minute later, sam rounded the corner with two heavy bags of sand slung over his shoulders. he caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said 'i have no idea what's going on either,' but also 'screw it, let's see where this goes.'

“he’s serious,” sam said, dropping the bags by the plastic edge. “he’s calling it ‘project beach’.”

𝜗ৎ dean made a dramatic pssshhhhh noise with his mouth and slapped the side of the pool. “that’s ‘project bitchin’ beach’, actually. and i need you two in swimsuits. now.”

𝜗ৎ you tilted your head, squinting at him despite the glare of the sun, then spun on your heel and walked back inside without a word. fine, if he wanted to play whatever bizarre game this was, you’d play.

𝜗ৎ you went straight for the smallest bikini you owned—shimmery black with a micro-triangle top that tied behind your neck and bottoms were as cheeky as can be. barefooted, you strutted through the bunker halls ready to tease dean and sam out of their swim trunks.

𝜗ৎ from the open patio door, the smell of cut grass and cheap rubber pool toys floated in as you walked through the opening. dean’s jaw dropped as soon as you came out. “jesus christ.”

𝜗ৎ sam didn’t gawk—he just let out a small sigh, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like here we go again. he knew you. while dean looked like his brain had short-circuited. his tongue darted out over his bottom lip before he even realized he was doing it.

𝜗ৎ you strolled right up to the edge of the kiddie pool. it had a few sad inches of water and was surrounded by those bags of sand sam had lugged in earlier. honestly, it was dumb and adorable.

𝜗ৎ you stepped one foot into the cool water, watched it ripple around your ankle, then dipped the other in and turned around, water lapping at your calves. “what now, project leader?”

𝜗ৎ dean stood there like he’d forgotten how his legs worked. “fuck—get in here.”

𝜗ৎ sam muttered something about needing a drink, but you caught the way his eyes lingered a second longer on the curve of your ass as you bent to sit in the pool. the water barely reached mid-thigh, sun-warmed and just a little slippery from that cheap plastic feel.

𝜗ৎ you leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out in front of you, toes brushing dean’s shin when he finally climbed in. his swim trunks were blue with black palm trees all over it—but that's all that you noticed until your gaze traveled to his meaty thighs as he settled in. the younger winchester came back with a beer, and a damp white tank showcasing the abs he worked hard for.

“this is ridiculous,” he said, yet he didn’t leave.

𝜗ৎ you looked up at him through your lashes, “then take your trunks off and make it worth the setup.”

𝜗ৎ sam blinked with the bottle paused just shy of his lips. you smiled as dean rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes going dark.

“getting to the point huh," you nod with a smile at his remark. "you serious, baby?” he asked, but he already knew.

𝜗ৎ you pushed yourself up onto your knees, water sloshing over the sides of the plastic rim. “dead serious.”

𝜗ৎ you leaned in to kiss dean first—your fingers curling into the waistband of his trunks and tugging them all the way down. he groaned into your mouth as you straddled him, knees sinking into the pool bottom, water slapping against your thighs. your bikini bottoms were gone with a flick of his fingers, tossed somewhere onto the damp sand.

𝜗ৎ you could feel sam watching, the bottle he so desperately wanted was forgotten at his side. you held dean’s cock in your hand, then sank down onto him in one smooth motion, water rippling in low, gentle waves. your mouth fell open with an ‘o’ expression at the feeling—a moan curling from your throat as dean grabbed your hips and grounded you on to his.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growled. “you feel good, sugar.”

𝜗ৎ you rolled your hips, letting him watch your face twist with every motion. once you started getting use to his cock, hands—sam’s hands—slid around your waist from behind, pulling your body back, pressing his chest to your spine.

𝜗ৎ you didn’t stop moving. well you couldn’t, dean's eyes fluttered closed, and his grip was tightening so much, your movement away was limited. you instantly felt sam’s cock, nudging between your cheeks—so, as the best girlfriend that you are (or the horniest) you reached back, lined him up, and helped him push in; the full feeling of them making you moan loud enough the neighbors would’ve called the cops if they weren’t so far away.

𝜗ৎ you were filled and full. dean’s cock in your cunt, sam’s pushing into your ass, both stretching you open like you were a toy made just for them. your legs shook as you rocked forward and back, caught in the pressure between them. the pool squeaked under the motion, water splashing up over the rim, soaking the sand.

𝜗ৎ dean was panting, groaning out lewd words, “jesus, you’re gonna make me cum just lookin’ at you—fuck—move, baby, c’mon, just like that—”

𝜗ৎ sam whimpered against your neck. “you take both of us so good. fuck, this tight little ass—shit.” you continued to ride them despite the creaking plastic and the water slapping against all three of you and to be honest, you were enjoying every second.

#tags below

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @zepskies @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nymphet-quenn @thesevnthseal

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bewitched-hours · 12 hours ago

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Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 2)

See part 1 here @lopfuuinhareanon @albinoxp Hope you enjoy o(≧▽≦)o

Reader gets She/Her again~

"And you're sure?" Chance asked you with a perplexed look.

"I saw them! They hesitated!" You protested, struggling against the gambler's grip with tears running over your cheeks.

Nothing you remembered in your past could've prepared you for watching your father actually kill someone. You knew he did it without question, you knew he'd sometimes come home with blood on him and need a bath before you could shower him in affection and stories from what you did with whichever goon stayed behind to watch you.

But you've never seen him actively kill someone...

And when you were the one he got, it felt even worse... Like you've done something to deserve this.

But sometimes... Even he seemed to hesitate when you pleaded with him, telling him you still believed in him even as he killed you.

Somehow... You knew he could hear you... Or at least your fear...

You figured if you just refused to give up, he would remember and win over the Spectre's hold...

"I saw dad too! He had that look again!" You tried to stomp your feet in the air until Chance hid in a building and let you down finally.

You knew he meant well, seeing as you were a bit slower with your shorter legs. Even your bunny speed can't get you so far...

You looked out carefully, watching the goons scramble to find you with an odd look to them... Like they felt guilty...

It honestly broke your heart. Even though they've killed you several times, you still saw them as family and knew you'd forgive them in a heartbeat. It wasn't their fault the Spectre made them turn against you...

You couldn't help but let out soft squeaks. Nothing like the ones you'd show when you let any of the survivors pet you but more with a sad undertone to it. Chance could only pray to his lady luck that the goons wouldn't hear it as you watched them split to look for the gambler and you.

"Kid, I know you can't control your squeaks but is there a way to muffle them at least?" He whispered nervously, trying not to sound upset.

He knew you just wanted your life back. Everyone did.

But they to focus on the present, as did you.

"Sorry..." You muttered, your squeaks quieting down until they were barely heard. You knew Chance felt bad about it though as he proceeded to lead you to a generator and help you with the puzzle so the generator would be done quicker.

By the time you've finished the round and won with Chance as the last two standing, you felt homesick again.

This time though, the survivors tried to trust you a bit more and went to make the table, simply handing you paper and crayons again so you went off to draw like usual until dinner was ready.

You learned the routine by now. Each 'day' has about 6 to 7 rounds before you were all allowed a longer break to have dinner and sleep.

You would get 10 hours to sleep and clean before it all repeated... It exhausted you mentally- wait...

There was a sudden song outside... A whistling you recognized anyday.

You looked to the other survivors and made sure they were distracted with dinner while you quietly snuck out.

"Sorry..." You whispered whilst slipping through the door to find the source of the whistling. A pit practically formed in your stomach and tears prodded through your eyelids as a lump formed in your throat.

It couldn't be a coincidence... It had to be them...

It was the exact melody they would whistle to help you sleep after a nightmare...

Hmm, should the child join the killers, I wonder~?

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #platonic forsaken x reader #platonic forsaken x child reader #mafioso forsaken #forsaken mafioso #some angst #angst with a happy ending #some fluff #comfort

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gasharpoondoe · 2 days ago

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"Until I died and I met you."

Elliot + healer reader oneshot

hurt + comfort

You were a healer. That meant you were constantly targeted by the killers. At this point, you had gotten used to it, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying as hell. Trying to heal someone only to be immediately hit by an attack was… bad, to say the least.

The survivors weren't… ungrateful, far from it, actually. But even then, they constantly asked for more, and more. You weren't the only healer; Elliot was there, too. But even then, the other survivors just kept bugging you for things, and it became worse whenever Elliot hadn't joined a round.

You wouldn't say your teammates were bad, they were skilled in their own ways, even. It was just that your specialty was healing.

Maybe you're being too harsh.

But even then, everyone can feel their own way, no?

You're allowed to be harsh. Nobody here was happy about the hell they were in. Surely you were allowed to feel the same?

Perhaps it was your upbringing, teaching you that such feelings were “wrong.”

But you're allowed to be angry.

You're allowed to be angry when Chance came to you for healing after his gun blew up on him for the fifth time.

You're allowed to be angry when Shedletsky comes to you after missing his swing and getting attacked, despite the killer being right there.

You're allowed to be angry when 007n7 came to you after failing to teleport away from the killer, who had been too close to him

You're allowed to be angry when the various survivors come to you over and over, after the various tips you give them.

…

Right?

Maybe you're too harsh on everyone.

Maybe you're being mean.

That's what they used to tell you all the time.

It's not their fault.

But it's not yours either.

Lying on your bed, after another round, you found yourself exhausted again. Yet again, your energy had been drained empty. Everyone kept asking you to help, which you were never opposed to, and you happily helped them.

But it was draining. Exhausting.

You just lay splayed out on your bed, meaning to rest.

Until you heard a knock at your door.

“Hello?”

You recognized that voice. It was Elliot. He wasn't in the round, so he couldn't help you. You heard him open the door, and could see in the corner of your eye that he was staring at you, worried.

“Are you… ok?” He asked, coming over and looking down at you. He seemed concerned. He didn't need to do that.

You just sighed, staring blankly. You were exhausted, and Elliot just looked away, understanding, and just sat next to you on the bed.

The silence said enough between you, and was accepting. Something that had happened without someone coming to the other for something, but instead to give.

...

It was nice.

---

Apologies for any formatting issues! I pasted this from Google docs, and I am stuck on a phone for now! Hello forsaken fic community!!! This is my first fic Ive posted!

also I wrote this while a bit busy also a little self projection but shhhh....

#forsaken #roblox forsaken #elliot forsaken #forsaken x reader #elliot x reader #homicidalporkchops

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hearts4hughes · 2 hours ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/hearts4hughes/786738253259816960/exbf-rafe-is-breaking-me-especially-reader

I hear what this anon is saying

But

I like ex!Rafe 🤷

Ex!Rafe finding out reader’s out with a guy who Rafe sees as a danger to her. Like idk the guy drives his bike without a helmet and Rafe catches reader and this guy going really fast and neither are wearing helmets. So Rafe, rightfully so, loses his shit at how reckless this man is being with reader

he shouldn’t be checking. it’s pathetic—he knows that. it’s the kind of behavior he’d mock if it belonged to anyone else. but rafe’s thumb moves anyway, thoughtless, practiced. tap, scroll, tap. your profile loads like muscle memory, like something god designed to live under his gaze.

you haven’t blocked him. though, you unfollowed him, obviously. but your account’s still public, and tonight you posted. his heart starts racing faster. he prays it’s a photo of you smiling. maybe candid. something to remind him what you look like happy. instead, it’s a video. some shaky clip from someone else’s story, reshared to yours. it’s short, grainy, barely visible. it’s loud with motion…wind…and you—

on the back of a motorcycle.

your bare arms are wrapped around someone else. someone taller, broader, clad in a leather jacket. he’s helmetless. that’s when rafe realizes that you are too. the speed at which the motorcycle moves, it’s not freedom, it’s a death wish. the kind of recklessness rafe is all too familiar with.

the video clicks off and he watches it again, and again. luckily you forgot to turn your location off. his jaw tightens. breath caught like smoke in his chest. he doesn’t think, just grabs his keys and slides into the porsche like it’s an exhale.

you don’t see the headlights at first. you’re smiling too hard, windblown, and dizzy from the ride. everything smells like late june and gasoline, and there’s a part of you that liked pretending you weren’t the kind of girl who used to fall asleep to rafe’s quarterly earnings calls and wake up to his cologne on your sheets.

then he’s there. almost like he never left. he’s pulling up fast, aggressive—like always. his windows are down, engine of the car you used to love purring with a threat. your stomach drops.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” rafe says, stepping out of the car like a storm in black sweatpants—gray hoodie, hair wild, eyes darker than you remember. darker than they have any right to be.

the guy on the bike blinks. he looks between the two of you and laughs. “can we help you, bro?”

rafe doesn’t even look at him. his gaze’s locked on you like he’s trying to burn a hole clean through your chest. “get off the bike.”

your heart jumps and your cheeks fill with color. “rafe-“

“now.”

the guy scoffs. “you her dad or something?”

“no,” rafe says flatly. “but i know what her skull looks like on a CT scan. do you?”

the silence that follows his deafening. the guy clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. you swing your leg off the bike slowly, grounding your heels like it might keep the earth from shaking. “it was just a ride.”

rafe laughs. it’s not a nice sound. “yeah? just a ride on the back of a stranger’s death machine with zero protection while he weaves through traffic like he’s trying to impress you?”

“he’s not a stranger-” you begin. your knees start to buckle, lip quivers.

“you don’t know him,” he snaps. “you don’t know what he drinks, if he takes pills, if he texts while driving,” he inhales deeply. “you don’t know who’s holding your fucking life in their hands and you’re smiling like it’s a goddamn music video.”

you flinch. the guy shifts behind you, arms folding. “hey, man, maybe take it down a-”

rafe rounds on him. “shut the fuck up,” his tone leaves no room for debate. “don’t talk to me. don’t talk to her. don’t look at her.”

you don’t speak. not yet. your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek, adrenaline sharpening everything, the taste of regret already forming behind your tongue.

rafe turns back to you, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “what were you thinking?” his voice breaks. not loud, but raw. “you think this proves something? that you’re free? you’re not. you’re just-” he swallows and looks away for half a second. “you’re just lucky i saw it before the morgue did.”

you hate how your throat tightens. how the shame tastes so familiar. how his worry still lives on you like perfume that won’t wash off. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you didn’t scare me,” he lies. then, softer he murmurs, “you gutted me.”

you look down. gravel crunches under your shoes as you shift your weight. “i don’t belong to you anymore, rafe.”

“you never stopped,” he says, almost too quiet. then he opens his passenger door before you can argue. he doesn’t say anything, but the disappointment in his eyes bores through you like a laser. you start to walk forward and the guy behind you scoffs before taking off. tears well in your eyes as you slip onto his leather seat.

the door clicks open as he gets in the driver’s seat. he turns his head, gaze softening now that you’re with him—safe. “if i catch you pulling shit like that again,” he pauses to regain his composure. “i’ll bury whatever asshole you’re with.”

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

#ex!rafe cameron #ex!rafe #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

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